


In Need of Comfort

by gubiegubes



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 17:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18877621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubiegubes/pseuds/gubiegubes
Summary: Wolf enjoys the cold nights the most.





	In Need of Comfort

By dawn, they must already be on their way. The search for the Divine Heir’s precious blood has continued even with the lull in Genichiro’s presence, a dip in the valley of their journey they can nestle in until he inevitably finds them again.

It was Kuro’s idea, as most things are. He had shown Wolf, small index finger sliding across the length of Japan and onto a small coast-side town.

“Will you join me?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“It will be hard, Wolf. I’m afraid I might be a burden to you.”

“My Lord,” Wolf said, “there is no burden.”

There is nothing else besides Kuro. 

Kuro, it turns out, is not bad at sneaking around. It matches up with the stories he has told Wolf of his time at the estate. 

“It’s not easy to trick trained soldiers,” he had told Wolf, a shy giggle at the end of his words. He is much wiser than he lets on.

As if to prove it, he tries to sneak up on Wolf, but Wolf turns around well before he is able to. It is only because he is always looking for him. He tries to tell Kuro as much. 

Kuro just says, “Wolf, you’ve learned something in your travels about stealth. Won’t you teach me?”

“Of course.”

Wolf shows him the soft patches in the grass, the different types of mines: those that are deadly and those that are just plain noisy. He describes them, tries to mimic them, the way they look, with the branches and foliage around their campsite. Kuro takes notes in a thin, battered scroll he pulls from his pouch. Wolf wants to tell him that he should write it in his mind and only his mind, but Kuro’s curious and rapt gaze, tinged with the satisfaction of learning something Wolf knows, brings him to pause. 

It is the nights that are Wolf’s favorite. Not all nights, for they are forced to rest during the day at times. And the nights bring the spirits in full force, emboldened by the added potential for surprise. 

To be specific, it is the cold nights Wolf enjoys and finds the most peculiar. 

Kuro, contrary to what Wolf expected, is chipper. He doesn’t mind the dirt. He does not complain about the small bedroll Wolf had cut for him. He jokes around. He cooks them rice. He insists Wolf sleep when he does, but Wolf tells him such a thing is impossible. 

As he slumbers within the small tent, Wolf thinks about it. With nobody else, with none of the others around to act as buffers to the difference in status between a Divine Heir and his shinobi, Kuro is unbeholden. He is never free—they march for Kuro’s own good, after all. Wolf, of course, is bound. If not to the promise to his father, he is bound to the strength in Kuro’s spirit. 

It is the cold nights Wolf likes the best. They always go the same way, like this dance they have perfected between each other.

Wolf surveys the thick forest landscape, hand on the hilt of his sword. He has one ear pricked towards the cluster of trees around them, one ear on Kuro’s movements on the bedroll behind him. Kuro fidgets, the fabric on top and the addition of Wolf’s scarf doing naught to keep him warm. 

This goes on for a bit, usually uninterrupted by the larger forces of the wild. 

Then, behind him, Wolf’s head already turning as Kuro mumbles, “Wolf.”

“Yes?” Wolf looks at him over his shoulder. 

“I’m cold.”

Wolf is cold, too. Despite the many journeys he has taken through the coldest path of all, namely the freezing journey of death, he still shivers as a chill wind rips through his bare neck. 

“My Lord, I shall find you a warm bearskin.”

“I don’t want to lie in remains,” Kuro says, “come lay with me.”

“I must keep watch, my Lord.”

“Keep watch as you warm me. I am confident you are capable in doing both so well.”

At that point, Wolf’s eyes are locked to the ground, though they should be on the forest. He cannot meet Kuro’s gaze. He has only ever glanced up once, and his stomach had clenched in the softness in Kuro’s eyes, the need in his outstretched hand. 

“Yes, my Lord.”

Wolf places his sword where he can grab it in less than a moment’s notice. He does not remove his prosthetic as he slides into the bedroll behind Kuro. He keeps the prosthetic on top, so that Kuro may have the warmth of his arm in a pillow. As comfortable as it may be, he must not remove it. Against his chest, Kuro ceases to shiver. His breath becomes deep and smooth as he drifts off. Wolf still watches the horizon, ready to spring up at the slightest sound, the slightest movement of a blade of grass. 

But Wolf also has a light, fluttery feeling in his stomach, one he can occasionally relax his muscles for. For the mornings after, he is always more rested, a vitality that avoids the decay of a tired mind. He knows Kuro must notice. He prays he does not mention it, if only because he is afraid Kuro will say,  _ that is no longer necessary.  _

Were that to happen, Wolf would always obey. He would not do so without mourning, and he would selfishly, secretly hold the memories close. 

As of now, Wolf holds him and shields him from the chill, tucks the swaths of cloth over the both of them. 

“Are you comfortable, my Lord?” 

Kuro does not answer. He only nestles in deeper. Wolf, in turn, is warmed all the more. 


End file.
